Grimbeau

Chatting small, enduring twaddle and passing comment on the news,

the wonderful weather, Ents and death trances, and

recent sightings of drunken old muckers puking on poodles

Every so often there are smartphone snapshots of  dormant pets,

a dinner dance after a few, a flying saucer over Tesco’s,

the paddling pool in the back garden, and some baby humans.

During tales of goings-on in times past, the clock is seen, nattering over.

Down to brass tacks: hoovering, bed-making, tidying, graft, filling in forms.

Today I am torn between Albert Camus or Kermit the Frog: I sign ‘Dean Martin.’